


Snake in the Grass

by shunnedfreak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shunnedfreak/pseuds/shunnedfreak
Summary: Harry and Draco are poster boys for a perfect life, while Pansy's falling apart.She sets out to fix it.





	Snake in the Grass

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter is not mine, nor are the characters. I just have fun with them :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Bright afternoon light filters in through grimy windows, hitting rumpled brown sheets and full creamy thighs. The stillness in the room is only broken by the loud snoring coming from the bed and the fevered tapping of a beak on the window pane. 

 

Tap! 

 

Tap!

 

Tap! Tap!  _ _Tap!__

 

Glass shatters and causes the figure in the bed to stir.

 

"Bloody buggering fuck! What? Circe's cunt!"

 

Pansy Parkinson stumbles from the bed, woken by the insistent taping of an infernal owl and what most likely was her window’s glass breaking. 

 

Her head pounds from her antics the night before, and her tongue taste disgusting in her mouth. She doesn't bother getting up from the bed knowing the mountain of trash and discarded clothes she'll have to go through to get to the window. Instead she pats for her wand and points it, flinging the broken window open, letting in more frigid air. The blasted owl, once in, didn't even have the decency to deliver the letter properly, but instead nearly take her eye out when it launches the letter at her head before flying out the window with an indignant hoot. 

 

"Fucking shite of an owl." Pansy grumbles to herself as she rips open the letter and reads it, rage building within her with every word.

 

__...about the loan of... We regret to inform you...Failure to pay before or on such date... Our establishment will be forced to reposses...fines will be added…_ _

__

The brunette screams in anger, and with a malicious  _ _Incendio,__  sets fire to the parchment.

 

Mood thoroughly soured, Pansy dresses haphazardly, leaving her bedroom in search of breakfast.

 

The hallway she passes through is dusty and dark, even in the late afternoon. Cracked walls and once-handsome carpets- now threadbare - litter her house. In the aftermath of the letter, the place looks even more dismal. Her stuffy, sneering ancestors in their portraits, that flutter their fans and harrumph at her, judging her state of near undress don’t help the ambiance. She sneers back at them and makes sure to flash more of her ample breast at the most obnoxious of them. Great Aunt Azalea Parkinson practically faints in her portrait. Although who was she to judge when everyone and their crups knew that Azalea Parkinson had a fondness for gin and an even greater fondness for centaurs.

 

“Dilly!”

 

Only silence greets Pansy’s call.

 

“DILLY!”

 

There’s a palpable beat of hesitation that makes Pansy grind her teeth together.

 

“Mistress be calling Dilly?” A house elf, small and quivering appears towards Pansy’s right.

“Mistwes be cwaling? Yes, you filthy thing.” Pansy mocks the house elf. “You cant keep this place from falling apart and yet you still fail at answering my calls. If I had a choice, I would have given you clothes ages ago.” The brunette practically snarls. “Go get me some firewhisky, you good for nothing lump.”

 

The house elf cringes, and in doing so is unable to dodge the shoe Pansy aims at it. The house elf pops away with the red boot that so recently bruised its’ head clutched in its hands, to do as it is bid.

 

With her drink in hand, Pansy settles down on a thin couch to drink and read the  _ _Prophet__. What she sees on the front page turns her rage bitter and cold.

 

The front page of the  _ _Prophet__ shows Draco holding an equally blonde brat, wiping drool from its gummy mouth. Potter sits disgustingly close and watches them with a besotted smile, cupping a careful hand on the brat’s head, before leaning in to press a kiss on Draco’s lips. The picture loops.

 

****THE POTTER-MALFOY FAMILY SEEN OUT AND ABOUT! Turn to page 7 to Learn The Secret to a Happy Family Life!****  

 

Seven fucking years and a simple kiss between Draco and Potter still has the  _ _Prophet__ loosing their minds. Pansy crumples the paper and swallows down the rest of her firewhisky.

 

Salazar, but does she hate Draco.

 

Draco with his perfect life, and his perfect family and his perfect job. Everything, perfect.

 

Draco had it all. His family was richer, nauseatingly so, being related to genuine royalty. Lucius Malfoy was an imposing man, and commanded everyone in his vicinity, even her simpering father. Narcissa Malfoy was the very definition of elegance, and no matter how much perfume, glamours and gaudy jewelries Penelope Parkinson wore, she was lifetimes inferior compared to Narcissa.

 

And Draco, even as children, was assured of his place in life. Always the automatic leader, dragging everyone’s attention to him with bratty ways and charming words. He decided who played who, and what they played, all the while managing to dismiss Pansy and what she wanted.

 

Pansy thought things would change at Hogwarts, and it did. For the worse. In school Draco had perfect grades, was excellent at flying and was envied by his peers. Pansy was designated as his lackey, a dark shadow only useful to be shouted at and ridiculed. Not even in the physical appearance did she have an advantage, for where Pansy was short and pug-faced with a permanent frown between her brows, Draco was blond and grey-eyed and so fucking pretty, that the fact that he did not have the right bits for the word did not matter.

 

Draco had everything growing up because what Draco wanted, Draco got, or else Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would make you disappear. Even the war, and the involvement of the Malfoys in it, was just a small hiccup in the long run. In fact it seemed to have worked in their favor, as Draco, with his lying cheating ways, faked tears and remorse and blinded the Wizarding world with his generous donations to charities - even after the reparations, the Malfoys were still loaded- managed to redeem their name and in the process snag Potter’s eye. Seven years later, they were called the Golden Family and everyone somehow forgot the bastards housed the Dark Lord.

 

Meanwhile, seven years later, Pansy has lost everything, her parents, her money and now maybe even her decrepit ancestral home. All because she wasn’t as skilled in lying through her teeth and spreading her legs like Draco did for the Golden boy.

 

The newspaper crumples in her hand, smearing Pansy’s hand in black ink. As she stares at the moving figures kiss and smile at each other, a plan begins to form in her mind.

 

Time to right what has been wrong. She’ll make him suffer just as much as she does, and if she succeeds, Pansy will be as rich as she was always meant to be and Draco, well…Draco will be destroyed. Just as she always wanted.

 

 

~O~

 

Draco wakes up to gurgling laughter and in incomprehensible babbling coming from the monitoring charm, glowing softly and bobbing where it floats with each sound it transmits. He takes time to smile at the sight of the charm, before turning his attention to the man beside him. Harry has his face buried into his pillow, mouth open and drooling, resembling their son so much Draco can't help but press fluttering kisses on Harry's face. 

 

"Mhmm. Draco why are you awake? Go back to sleep." Harry's arm is a sturdy and dependable weight as it slips around his waist. He is pulled closer, and Harry nuzzles his neck, dragging prickly stubble against his neck and face, causing Draco to squirm and let loose a laugh.

 

"Stop it you oaf. You know I get horrible beard burn!" Harry's rumbling laughter courses through Draco's body. "Really? I didn't hear you complain last night, when I was between your legs." Harry’s voice is still scratchy with sleep. A low thrum of arousal burns in Draco’s gut at both the sound and words.

 

"Smug doesn't look good on you, Potter."

 

"Know what looks good on me? Your cum."

 

"I cant believe you went -", Harry cuts off Draco's words with a hungry kiss that Draco immediately reciprocates. Their kiss is slow, confident in their reception and borne from their knowledge of each other and what they like.

 

Their bodies move in tandem, friction lessened by the light layer of sweat they've accumulated. Gasps, sighs and occasional burst of laughter fill the air. Their release comes like a wave, slow, inevitable and has them both clutching at each other. 

 

"That was splendid, Harry." Draco says when he's able to stop gasping. He buries his fingers in Harry's perfectly thick hair and gives his scalp a scratch. Harry hums in pleasure, jewel bright green eyes fluttering close.

 

The moment of stillness is broken by the shrieking laughter of their son. 

 

“I believe that's my cue to get up." Draco pushes Harry down as he tries to get up with him. "You stay there, it's your first day off in a while." Draco presses a lingering kiss on Harry's chest before leaving for the bathroom to wash up and attend to their son.

 

Draco gets to the nursery just as Kreacher is done changing Scorpius.

 

"Kreacher, thank you. You may rest now."

 

"Yes, master." The house elf has a shifty-eyed look about him before giving a racking cough and disappearing with a crack. Draco shakes his head at the old house elf. He knows even with his instructions, the elf will find a way to get around the fact that he was old and needed the rest more often.

 

Their son is using the crib to stand up, and at Draco's entrance, proceeds to bounce in his excitement, babbling away about what Draco assumes to be about his night and his morning.

 

"Hello, my precious star. Did you have a good sleep?" Draco's beautiful baby gives him a gummy smile, grey eyes sparkling and chubby hands reaching out in a plea to be carried. Draco gladly obliges.

 

"I think it's time for your breakfast. Growing boys can't go hungry can they?" Draco teasingly nibbles at Scorpius' small hand, just for the pleasure of watching his son shriek in laughter.

 

He takes Scorpius to the gardens, one of his favorite place in their home. 

 

Three years ago, when Harry and he decided to put down roots and make things more permanent, they went out to find a house. Neither wanted to use any of the properties available to them. They wanted a fresh start, without the memories attached that the Malfoy Manor and Grimmauld Place were overflowing with. On this point, they agreed. What they had explosive rows about however was the type of house they wanted. Harry wanted it simple and homey, Draco preferred it large, filled with the amenities he was used to. Words like "pretentious and spoilt", "deprived and pitiful" were thrown around. They didn't speak to each other for a week. One miserable week that lasted decades for Draco.

 

In the end with the combined efforts of their friends -and their missing each other- they agreed to meet and eventually talked. Harry wanted a home where everyone was close and no one stood at attention or was ignored. Draco basically wanted the same thing, but was of the opinion that they could have the same thing with style and creature comforts.

 

Eventually, they came to an agreement, in a form of a sprawling Tudor style house that was both cozy and welcoming, but had enough space for a Quidditch pitch and a elaborate garden that was Draco's personal favourite, which he filled with his mother's flowers and his potion ingredients.

 

He's fed Scorpius a healthy meal of mashed bananas and has had his own breakfast -Harry coming down in the the middle of it to take over Scorpius- when the lively table conversation they were having is disrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

 

Draco raises his eyebrows at Harry. "That better not be Weasley. It's your day off, and I was planning for the day to be for us."

 

Harry swallows the tea he was drinking before he answers. "Ron knows better. You've only threatened the whole Auror department with dire consequences if they so much as think of bringing me in for work. Sit down, I'll go see who it is."

 

Draco nods at Harry and busies himself with spelling the dishes back to the kitchen with him, having them wash themselves. Kreacher would be pissed, but it's for the elf's own good if he takes it easy from time to time.

 

Draco is nearly done with setting the kitchen to rights when he begins to wonder where Harry has gotten to. He leaves the kitchen, bringing Scorpius with him.

 

He is confronted with Harry and Pansy at a stand off. Harry's legs are wide apart, hands clenching rhythmically at his side. Even from the back, Draco can see that he's seconds from hexing Pansy. Pansy on the other hand has her hands on her hips, one sharply heeled foot tapping dangerously on the carpeted Floor.

 

Pansy notices his entrance and bypasses Harry to get to him.

 

“Draco, darling. We should see each other more." Pansy is dressed as she usually is nowadays. Tight black Muggle dress that expose abundant decolletage and pale legs tipped in four inch heels. Her hair is a slick bob and her lips match her red nails that sink into Draco's arms as she air kisses him. She reeks of cigarettes and Scorpius is really Harry's son as he whimpers and hides away from her.

 

"Pansy, what brings you here?" For a moment Pansy's face twists, before she smooths it out.

 

"Potter has fucking rubbed off on you, in more ways than one, hasn't he? A drink would be nice before an interrogation."

 

"Pans, please, not in front of the child…”, but Pansy isn't listening as she's already made her way past Draco.

 

Harry comes closer and gently lifts Scorpius out of Draco's arms. His brows are furrowed, green eyes dark behind his lens. "Go see what she wants, and send her away. I actually want to enjoy this day with you. "

 

Draco can feel a frown build at the edges of his mouth. He feels terrible. He loves Pansy and it breaks his heart that Harry feels the exact opposite. There's no love lost between the two, ever since Hogwarts, and even the connection they have via Draco is not enough to bridge the animosity between them. Draco understands. Pansy can be abrasive -more so lately- even on the good days, and Pansy thinks Harry is a ‘ _ _self righteous bastard, that gets off being on the moral high ground__ _ _’__. It was hopeless from the start. Still, Draco wishes that they could get along- two of the most important people in his life.

 

He nods at Harry, bestowing a kiss on both of his boys and goes in search of Pansy. He finds her in the den, by the minibar, pouring herself a drink of one of the more expensive scotches. Draco is quiet as she drinks.

 

Pansy lets out a satisfied sigh, "That really hits the spot." She pushes away from the bar, running her fingers across the table and the fat couches -Harry insisted he hates stiff chairs- as she makes the circuit of the room.

 

"You really have it made don't you Draco? Perfect home, perfect family, perfect  _ _life.__ Meanwhile...look at me." She gives a derisive snort.

 

For some reason her words are vaguely hurtful and offensive, but they bring into focus her whole being. For the first time Draco consciously takes into account how his friend looks. Pansy is dressed more shabbily than she ever would have allowed years ago. Her dress, even though it's Muggle, is clearly not of the higher end variety. Her shoes at first glance are expensive, and they are, but they're more than three seasons back and showing much wear. Her make up is smudged and her nails are chipped. Usually it doesn't matter if someone is not as well dressed as he is -he's years away from such prejudice-, but Pansy always had a way of showing him the worst of the world. He feels guilty like he failed her somehow.

 

"How's the job?" He wishes to distract her from the maudlin direction of her thoughts and to check up on her at the same time. He's been having problems communicating with her for a long time, and it seems this is another example of those times.

 

"What job? I was fired weeks ago." Her tone is hard.

 

"Fired? But I personally talked to the owner! He assured me that he was very willing to take you on. What happened?"

 

"Does things have to happen? Couldn't he have just been an unreasonable bastard that took issue to me being a  Pureblood?” Her chest heaves as she vents. “But if you really want to know, he was a thrice-damned miser that hoarded every useless thing."

 

"Pans... Don't tell me you were caught stealing. He runs a potion shop, and stealing ingredients is a very serious offense. Merlin, Pans, how could you?"

 

"How could I? How could __I__? You don't get to judge me for doing everything I could to make ends meet. Not when a single frown from you has Potter all a-flutter and consequently the whole Wizarding world bending over for you."

 

Pansy is waving her hands around as she rants, coming closer and closer until she's up in his face. Up close her muddy green eyes have a furious glint.

 

Draco frowns at his friend’s words and behaviour. Harry might cater to Draco’s needs, but not to the point Pansy suggest.

 

"You don't get to judge me Draco, not when you have everything and I have none."

 

Draco raises his hands in a placating manner. "I'm not judging you. Buy you have to understand that what you're doing is wrong. The reason why you can't keep a job is not because of prejudice, but due to the things you do. You can't be your own enemy, Pans, if you want to succeed in life."

 

But Pansy isn't listening. She's muttering to herself, "This all could have been avoided had you agreed to lend me the galleons I needed to start my business. But no, precious Potter said ' _ _don't'__  and you immediately give in." Louder, before Draco can cut in and defend Harry and both their decisions, she speaks, "You're a selfish bastard Draco, I don't even know why we're friends."

 

She's sniffling by the time she's done. Draco barely has his hands raised to comfort her before she's storming off. Some time later the front door is banging shut, seemingly shaking the whole house.

 

Draco is left stunned by how abrupt everything was.

 

"Are you alright? I heard some if that. It wasn't pleasant. "

 

It's Harry, always there when Draco needs him. His sturdy arm wraps around Draco's back. "What an understatement."

 

"Scorpius is with Kreacher?" Harry hums in reply. They're both quiet for a heartbeat.

 

"I don't know where that came from, Harry. I mean, lately, I've noticed that Pansy's been angrier, always with a drink on hand, and can't keep a job for the life of her. I've tried talking to her, tried to help her, but she's always rebuffed my advances. Then out of nowhere she comes up with this. Have I been an awful friend?"

 

Draco is aware of his personal flaws. He can be selfish, prideful, cowardly and quick to make rash decisions. On the topic of friends, he treated them casually and more like minions than companions. These were the traits pre-war Draco had in abundance. But with the advent of the war, he was forced to confront the worst of himself and try to change. He'd like to think that the happiness he has now, namely in the forms of Harry and Scorpius, are signs that he is now in a way redeemed and worthy of good things.

 

Harry takes his time to answer, he never was the most tactful but he spoke from the heart, with no lies or pretenses. "You know I've never liked Pansy," he waits for Draco's snort at such an obvious statement, "But I know how much she means to you. She's your Hermione, and you need her. Talk to her, send her an Owl, find out where all this anger is coming from. Even if she doesn't reply, reaching out first will show her that your willing to listen and make up. I hate to see you upset, Draco, I really don't want this fight to go longer."

 

Draco sighs. Harry is right. Pansy is quite proud, add that to her anger and spectacular blow up, the chances of her saying sorry first is nil. Not to mention that Pansy can keep a grudge like a pro. One time, she didn't speak to him for weeks after he told her that her favorite sweater made her look fat. Which it did, and he thought he was doing her a favor of telling her.

 

"Thank you Harry. I'll do that." He turns in towards Harry until they're face to face, sliding his arms around Harry's neck. Draco takes a moment to observe Harry's face. His thick brows, square jaw, full lips. His scar is much faded, ten years from the war, covered by his ridiculously messy hair, that Draco loves. And of course his eyes, bright green as the papers say, but only those who really know him -that are close to him- notice the flecks of gold and brown in them. Draco is glad to be one of the privileged ones.

 

"I thank Merlin every day that we found each other. I love you, Harry."

 

Draco's cheeks burn, even now, so many years later, a product of his upbringing. He does it though, because he knows how much Harry craves being told he is wanted. He does it because it feels good to say the words, to express such positive emotions. He does it because Harry deserves to know that he is loved.

 

Harry smiles at Draco. "And I love you. Even more each day." He kisses Draco's heated cheeks, before pressing a kiss to the blond's lips. Their bodes press together, molding into each other's heat. Just like this morning, the kiss is slow, unhurried and just as good.

 

~O~

 

Harry just wants the day to end. Normally he loves his work, with the excitement and mysteries it brings, but somehow the day has determined to be as difficult as possible. First, one of Harry’s co-workers was at St. Mungo’s after being exposed to the tender mercies of the criminal she was chasing. Wilson, would be out for the better part of the week, leaving Harry with the rest of her paper works, something that he hates doing even on his good days. To add insult to injury, the cooling charms were wonky, forcing the whole Auror department to choose between hellishly hot and freezing cold, with nothing in between. By lunch time, the fact that the office was out of tea and only had coffee -the disgusting kind that was only vaguely palatable when hot enough to burn off his taste buds- at this point Harry couldn’t even muster irritation.

 

Harry wanted to go home. He wanted to hold his son, and breathe in Score’s comforting baby smell. He wanted to have Draco hug him, and run a hand through Harry’s hair. He loved his family, and a day like this made it even more apparent.

 

By the time the clock finally, finally hit 5 o’clock, Harry was out and running. He barely even acknowledges the greetings he receives from various people. He skips the Floo, preferring the longer walk to the approved Apparation point than standing still and waiting for his turn in the Floo back at the ministry.

 

The moment Harry is home, he takes the time to breathe. The scent of his home brings a visceral feeling of comfort and relief that loosens Harry’s shoulders. After a moment, Harry opens his eyes, taking in the familiar -and well loved- sight of his home. The house is an elegant yet cozy mix of wood and marble, done up in warm browns and soothing creams. Its a mix of both his and Draco’s personalities, Harry’s overstuffed chairs and Draco’s numerous bookshelves, Muggle technology and tasteful art, potion journals and Quidditch magazines. Its everything the lonely boy in him ever wanted in a home, and more. And Draco made it all possible.

 

Harry’s thoughts make him miss his husband more, making him call out, “Draco? Are you home?”

 

His husband keeps unpredictable times. Not only is Draco managing the Malfoy -and once they got together- the Potter estates, he’s also involved in numerous charities. Luckily, Draco is able to do most of his work at home, something that allows Draco the freedom to be with Scorpius as much as he wants, and lets Harry and Draco see as much of each other as they wish.

 

Harry calls again, when he receives no answer. Discarding his scarlet Auror robes, Harry decides to head up to the nursery, figuring he’d most likely find Draco with his son. If not there then his next stop are the gardens.

 

Harry strides through the open door of the nursery and nearly trips over the Draco’s prone, bleeding body.

 

For a moment his husbands body is superimposed with that of a much younger one, bleeding in a flooded bathroom, reminiscent of a darker, more evil days. And just like those days, Harry is paralyzed, filled with dread and cold fear, because he can’t loose what he has. Not now, not ever.

 

The nursery is trashed. The pale yellow wallpaper is slashed in many places and now show cowering animals. The heirloom crib that Harry loves is in pieces and the room is filled with entrails of pillows and stuffed toys

 

His son is no where to be found, and his husband has been bleeding, unconscious for who knows how long…

 

There’s a screaming in Harry’s head, even as he determines that Draco is still alive -  _ _please please thank you please thank you thank you-__  and casts a stasis charm. The world rings as he confirms that only Draco and he are present in his home with a firm  _ _homem revelio.__ A bright stag takes care of summoning Ron and Hermione.

 

He feels deaf, like the world is suddenly wrapped in cotton leaving him adrift and numb. The short time it takes Hermione and then Ron to arrive and find him clutching Draco to his chest, dried blood flaking on his skin, reads like eternity for Harry.

 

“Harry! Harry, what happened?” Hermione’s voice is nearly shrill, even as she rushes to check over Draco, wand flashing in the air.

 

Harry raises hollow eyes at his best friends, “Can you take of Draco, ‘Mione? I need to find Score.”

 

Hermione, purses her lips, face paling as she nods. “Okay, I’ll take him to St. Mungo’s.” She disappears with Draco even as Ron is busy casting spells to try and find out what happened, simultaneously raising the Auror signal for an emergency.

 

“Harry, mate, pull yourself together. Tell me what happened. The faster we work, the faster we catch the bastards who did this.”

 

Harry stands from his awkward crouch on the Floor. The hand sticky with his husband’s life blood, grips his wand. Distantly, Harry hears the pops signaling the arrival of the responding Aurors.

 

Ron is right. He can’t afford to loose it now. Harry feels the anger slowly rise until it mixes with the fear in his gut. He lets the cold, hungry feel of the miasma of fear and anger suffuse him and he returns Ron’s clenched jawed stare.

 

__No one will take what’s mine from me. Not now, not ever._ _

 

As one, they cast.

 

 

~O~

 

__Shit shit shit fuck!_ _

__

This has turned out worse than she has planned. A total clusterfuck of epic proportions.

 

Pansy really did not think this through.

 

It was simple really. Go into the Malfoy-Potter home, leave her ring where no one can find it and depart. Later, allow some nobodies to infiltrate their home once the ring has done its job of creating a chink in the -frankly absurd amount- protective charms Potter has put around his home. Once that was done, have them steal the brat, wait for a few days and send a ransom note and asking for a fortune in exchange of the brat. Afterwards, she would disappear with her large pay out.

 

Simple and direct.

 

But no. She made the mistake of entrusting  _ _idiots__ to do a job she should have done herself. Not only did they fail to extract the child quietly, but they did so in such a way that Potter was raising hell as a consequence.

 

If the papers are to believed, Draco has been unconscious for three days from the blood loss and the multiple defensive wounds he received defending his child. Now Potter is going around looking like vengeance and anger personified, backed up by his two lackeys. Even the Dark Lord would think twice if he could see Potter now.

 

Pansy genuinely fears for her life. No matter what she does, she can’t let Potter discover what she has done.

 

She needs to find a way to get away with this. The only ones who knew about her plot were the thugs she hired, but even they were taken care of -a heavy dose of soporific draught in their congratulatory Ogden's, followed by a vicious  _ _Obliviate,__ a Parkinson specialty, and they wouldn't remember their parents much less rat her out. Now she was the only one left, so there was no problem with getting caught.

 

Everything could have been easier, had the kidnapping gone smoothly. Draco and Potter would have been frantic and hopefully careless in their quest to find their son. She would have sent her ransom note and would have been paid,  _ _just like that.__ But with Draco hurt, that plan was out of the window, because Potter is now murderous and at high alert, any move to contact him would get her caught so fast her head would still be spinning by the time the cells of of Azkaban have long since slammed behind her.

 

Her other problem was the child.

 

__Kill the child. Get rid of the body and there's no evidence. No way to get caught._ _

__

Perfectly rational. In fact it's the best plan in such a situation. She can't get a ransom for the child, she can't give it away and risk it being traced to her and she most definitely can't keep it indefinitely as each passing day exposes her to the risk of discovery. 

 

However, she can't just kill a child. She's not evil, far from it in fact. Pansy may hate Draco, but she was no child killer. She knew what she wanted, and she went out to get it. It was unfortunate that the child was caught in between. 

 

But any pity or remorse she feels for the kid is steadily running out as it. Kept. On. Screaming.

 

Day in, day out the brat shouted it's lungs out, shredding her eardrums and her patience one shrill scream at a time. Three days later and she was on her last rope. Somehow, the brat is bypassing her silencing charms and any measure to keep it quiet. Typical Potter spawn. She empathizes with the Dark Lord now. 

 

"Dilly!" Pansy's scream just surpasses the brat's. "Dilly!" The elf as usual takes its sweet time answering her. By the time it appears, Pansy is nearly frothing in the mouth. Its only vaguely satisfying that it's already cowering when it faces her.

 

"You stupid good for nothing filth. How many times do I have to tell you that I expect to be answered immediately?" She stalks away from the sniveling creature, even as it strives to answer her. Pansy locates the child, kept in the basement, windowless and musty smelling. Scorpius is on a a cot covered by a pile of old linen. He sits, dressed still in the same clothes he came with, and relatively clean. Dilly must be washing the child. She notes the trembling lips around chubby fingers, the tear tracked face and the splotchy red cheeks.

 

For a moment she sees the boy for what he is. A baby, caught in her schemes. Her heart clenched and she can't breathe, because what the fuck was she doing?

 

The child chooses the instance to glare at her, hands now gripping the linen tightly. Bright grey eyes and defiant expression; the child is all Potter in attitude and the hateful grey eyes are entirely Draco's. Even their Merlin-forsaken infant thinks it's better than her.

 

Any pity she feels dissolves into nothing.

 

"Dilly, keep the child quiet. I don't want to hear another peep from it. Or else, I'll be forced to do something harsh." She turns cold green eyes unto her house elf.

 

"Yes, mistress. Yous won't be hearing noise. Dilly be taking care of him." The elf bows low, wrinkly ears flopping against it's head.

 

"You see to it."

 

Now unto the problem of her continued possession of the child.

 

 

~O~

 

Three days.

 

That's how long since his baby was taken.

 

The same amount of time he’s been waiting for Draco to wake up.

 

Three days too long to go without his family.

 

Harry rakes a shaky hand to his hair. Stubble jots his jaw, moving past artful and now firmly in the unkempt territory. The brunette can’t remember the last time he ate or drank something other than the shitty hospital coffee.

 

Happy couldn’t cover what he felt this past years. The happiness he experienced could mostly be credited to Draco, and this past year, to the addition of their son. Meeting Draco again after everything, learning to be his friend and later his lover and then his husband was an adventure he never thought he’d have.

 

However, all through out the quidditch games they attended as friends, the soft kisses they exchanged on each other’s doorsteps as lovers and the laughter filed breakfasts they’ve had as a family, there’s been doubt. A persistent voice in Harry’s mind telling him that he didn’t deserve any of these. Like a shard of glass lodged in his heart that twinges every time he felt overly happy, telling him  _ _you’re just an imposter, these smiles aren’t for you, you’ll loose them soon enough.__

__

Harry figures its his deprived upbringing that causes these doubts and insecurities. Years of neglect in his formative years has nearly convinced him consciously that he doesn’t deserve happiness or love.

 

Loving Draco, and being loved in return has gone a long way in shoring up those broken parts in him. For a while, Harry was complacent. He could finally breathe, could finally relax, and say  _ _maybe this is mine, maybe I could have this.__

 

And now this happened.

 

Harry bites his lip. He won’t cry. Not now, not until he has his son and husband back, or else he won’t stop and he’d be useless to everyone that needs him.

 

A heavy hand claps him on the shoulder. Its Ron. A silent, patient rock that has been invaluable to Harry these three days that has lasted a lifetime.

 

The Floo flares to life. Hermione’s head appears.

 

“Harry. Draco’s awake.”

 

Four words and Harry breathes.

 

.oOo.

 

Draco feels like shit. Like dragon dung, freshly voided. He sits on the washed out bed of what most likely is in St. Mungo’s. Hermione’s been in, along with a crowd of healers and mediwitches, checking his vitals and waving her wand in complicated patterns that Draco wouldn’t have recognized even when he was at his best.

 

He wants to ask about Harry. He wants to ask about his son. But Hermione is his friend, and he won’t put her in a position where she’ll have to tell him...tell him something he doesn’t want to hear.

 

Hermione grips his forearm as she tells him he’ll be fine and that he won’t have scars from the attack. Draco wonders if she has anything that can stop the bleeding in his heart.

 

Its been only minutes and the door fairly bursts open. Its Harry, and oh, Merlin, he looks awful. The numbness he feels since waking up is slowly lifting.

 

“Draco.”

 

Harry closes the door and sinks by Draco’s bed. He grips Draco’s hand, and presses trembling kisses to Draco’s fingers.

 

“Scorpius?”

 

“I- I’m sorry. I haven’t found him yet. I’m sorry.” Draco can feel hot moisture on his skin. He knows it’ll be just as salty as the tears running down his face.

 

He turns his palm up, sliding a hand beneath Harry’s chin. His husband looks terrible. Green eyes swim in tears, rimmed in dark shadows. He manages to look pale under his olive skin tone.

 

“Harry, come here.”

 

He pulls his husband into his arms, uncaring of the twinges of pain he still feels. Harry sobs apologies into his neck.

 

“You did well. I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I’m here now. We’ll find him together. Hush.”

 

He runs soothing hands over Harry.

 

They’ll take this moment to cry together. After that, they’ll hunt down who did this and make them pay.

 

~O~

 

Draco looks terrible. His face is long and thin, face seemingly chiseled from marble, parchment thin and just as sharp. 

 

Her friend’s face resembles the one he wore during the war. Pansy wonders what it says about her if she can make someone can look so awful. Mostly, Pansy is too distracted by the slow feeling of dread, the cold hands of fear wrapping around her gut.

 

“Pansy, I was expecting you to visit. You never did. Why is that?”

 

Pansy adjusts her seat on her lumpy sofa. She reaches for the tea she set out herself, as Dilly as usual is nowhere to be found. The cup rattles on it’s saucer. Draco’s flinty eyes track her movements.

 

“Draco, dear. I’m sorry I didn’t visit. I was planning to. Just as soon as you got a little better. You know, with our fight, and the recent…events, I didn’t think I was welcome. More so with Potter.”

 

Draco is silent. He sits stiffly at the couch opposite her, eyes cast down, face blank.

 

“Harry wouldn’t have begrudged me your company. Not now, that we haven’t yet found Scorpius.”

 

He speaks clearly, like its only a matter of time till he found his son. Pansy’s blood boils.

 

“Well, I said I’m sorry did I not? As usual, I can do no right with you.” Her grip tightens around her cup. Dust motes slowly drift down, visible in the light of the afternoon sun.

 

“Dilly.”

 

Her house elf appears beside Draco in one call. It bows low at Draco, before glaring bloody murder at her.

 

“Master Draco.”

 

Pansy can’t believe her eyes, nor ears. Her house elf never answers her when she calls, but a single call from Draco and the blasted thing practically kow tows to him!

 

“What the fu-” But Draco cuts her off.

 

“They say bad things happen in threes. I fought with my best friend, got attacked in my home and in the process, had my child stolen from me.”

 

Pansy grits her teeth, trying to keep herself calm. She discreetly fingers her wand beneath her robes. Years in Slytherin has thought her how to read an atmosphere, and if there’s one word to describe the air between her and Draco, Pansy would choose __menacing.__

 

“Draco, darling, I don’t see the point-” Pansy’s fingers tighten around her wand. The air feels muggy and hard to breathe in, and yet Draco keeps still, like marble, the only movement he makes is to slowly trace the bluish veins beneath his skin.

 

Again, Draco cuts her off.

 

“They also say good things come in threes  as well. I wake up. I’m surrounded by friends and family and a house elf tells me a secret.”

 

Pansy’s breathe stops. She stares at the traitorous cretin before her. “Dilly, be a dear and tell Pansy what you told me.”

 

The elf bows low again before speaking Pansy’s death sentence. “Dilly be telling master Draco that bad mistress Pansy be keeping master Scorpius.”

 

“Imagine that.”

 

Time slows to a standstill before the world __explodes.__

__

Draco shoots off a blasting hex just as Pansy sends a slicing curse at him. The result is a pulverized sofa that Pansy was once sitting on and hail of feathers from the pillows and arm chair that Draco had just vacated in time.

 

The brunette takes shelter behind the closest wall.

 

“How could you Pansy. I treated you like a sister! My child. My baby. Your __nephew!__ ”

 

Draco doesn’t give her time to answer before he cast another spell that turns the wall she’s hiding behind into grasping vines that will most likely bleed or choke her to death. Possibly both. Pansy barely has time to cast a freezing charm and run to the adjacent wall. Definitely not something he picked up form his Auror husband or pretentious charities.

 

“Were you being forced? Are you under a spell? Please tell me this was not your doing. Tell me you don’t hate me so much that-”

 

“Oh fuck you and your self righteous ways. You’re so bloody selfish you don’t see the world around you. You don’t think beyond yourself, can’t imagine that someone out there hates your disgusting pus filled guts.”

 

Pansy is tired of cowering behind things and taking all the abuse Draco has seen fit to send her way all their lives. If he wants a fight, a fight is what he’ll get and more.

 

“We’ve been friends since we were children, Pans. I cared for you. How could you do this to me?”

 

Draco lets her come out from hiding, but his wand is aimed at her heart. She does the same, not bothering with a shield charm. She doesn’t plan in letting this carry on any longer.

 

“Care? Pah. I spit on your concept of ‘caring’. My mother was right. Only the privileged have the luxury of pretending to care. You know what? Its not just you that’s rotten. It’s your whole disgusting blood line. Touting blood purity and shit, but just as happy to whore yourselves out to anyone with power. While deserving people are deprived of what’s rightfully theirs, all of you have managed to come out on top. Your whole lot are a sickness that must be excised.”

 

Draco looks at her like he doesn’t know her. And he’s right, he does not. How could he, when all he ever cared about was himself and how to better it.

 

“We were wrong to have sided with Voldemort. I acknowledge that. But Pansy, making amends and saying sorry after the war was the right thing to do. Both because we were at fault and because it’s what any self respecting Slytherin would do. Adapt and survive.”

 

Pansy sneers. Ah, yes, the famous Malfoy boot-licking talent. She fires off a stinging hex just because of the __stupid__ things he says. He deflects it easily and keeps his wand trained at her.

 

“Not at the cost of our pride. We are Purebloods Draco. Not some cowering crups happy to take scraps. We should be the kings and queens of the Wizarding world!”

 

The bastard has the gall to shake his head slowly, like she’s some disobedient child, like her last employer before she hexed him impotent and obliviated him. Like all her previous Slytherin friends when she expressed some of her thoughts.

 

“And what does stealing my child have to do with anything?”

 

Pansy laughs at the gritted way he speaks. Something loose and reckless unfurls in her chest. She’s invincible right now. She’ll get rid of Draco __and__ thechild. Fuck the galleons or some shit. The satisfaction of besting this bastard will be her reward.

 

“Nothing in the grand scheme of things. But it is the best revenge I could ever have against you.” At Draco’s look she elaborates. “Oh, yes. You thought all those time you showed off your home, your husband, your adorable __child,__ went over my head? I knew you thought less of me; believed me inferior to the great Malfoy-Potters.” The memory of the gleaming ornate tea sets and shiny marble floors of Draco’s home still hurts her eyes. “I planned to have the child ransomed. Then with the no doubt large payment you were going to give me, I would have left and lived the life I was always destined for.”

 

“What do you plan now? Surely you can’t expect Harry or anyone else to pay the ransom.” Draco’s eyes are grey and hard as he asks her.

 

“Right as always Draco. I guess I’ll get rid you and then brat. I’ll be doing you a favour, I can’t imagine how you stand the screaming day in and day out.”

 

“Then it’s quite lucky that Dilly was so good as to bring Scorpius when she told me what you did. I’m only here to get you to confess. Thank you for being so forthcoming Pansy.”

 

Everything stills.

 

The brat is gone. That means she has no hold over Draco. She needs to flee, revenge is for another time, gripping her wand as she attempts Apparation. She fails.

 

Anti-apparition wards. Pansy’s panicking, distracted - and then she is thrown hard, into a wall. Something in her side cracks.

 

A another spell renders her mute. By now her heart is pounding in her chest so hard she choking for air. Pansy sees her wand lying a few feet from where she fell, and makes a move to crawl to wards it.

 

“I was only here to make you confess, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you hurt while I do.”

 

A spell snaps her wand in two. A silent whimper escapes Pansy’s lips.

 

Draco’s expensive shoes come into her line of sight. Another is used to turn her unto her back, uncaring that the movement lights her side up in pain, making breathing difficult.

 

Draco’s eyes are dead, worse than the times she saw him during the war.

 

He whispers a spell, soft and sensual. Almost innocuous but for the fact it sends Pansy writhing in pain.

 

The pain is too much, like she’s being skinned alive, like hot pokers to her innards, like knives gouging out her eyes. It goes on and on, even as Draco immobilizes her.

 

“Let’s see how long before the Aurors figure out what I did to you.”

 

Distantly Pansy hears the sounds of thundering footsteps. Many- Aurors? She can’t think the pain, __the pain-__

__

__“__ Two more things, Pans. You really should have listened when Harry said to treat your house elf better. And second…you should not have harmed my family.”

 

Draco’s figure moves out of her fixed gaze, replaced by more people in Scarlet.

 

She really does hate Draco.

 

~O~

 

Scorpius’s bright blond hair glints in the afternoon light, immediately eye catching in the sea of reds and dark browns of the Weasley clans and their extended family.

 

He watches as Teddy Lupin changes his nose into a beak which sends the assorted children around him, as well as Scorpius, clapping and hooting in laughter.

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

Sturdy arms grip Draco from behind. The blonde runs light fingers over the dusting of dark hair on Harry’s arms.

 

“That I’m grateful that he doesn’t seem to remember anything.”

 

“Well, children do have the advantage of not dwelling on things.”

 

Draco gives a non-committal hum.

 

He should bring out the cake - shaped as Scorpius’ favourite unicorn stuffed toy- so as to give Kreacher and Dilly the chance to receive the admiration the giant sparkly confection will no-doubt garner.

 

“When will you take off the spell?”

 

Draco stiffens in his husband’s arms, and as such is consequently turned.

 

“How did you know?”

 

Harry looks at him, eyes searching his gently. “Hermione clued Ron on it when he mentioned the symptoms Parkinson was having to her. And I know you. There’s no way you’d have let her go unscathed.” His husband takes a pause. “She tried to kill herself again.”

 

Draco hisses. “It’s the least she deserves.”

 

Soothing hands run through his arms before they lace with Draco’s.

 

“And I agree. But Draco, hating someone…actively hurting someone for so long it takes a toll you. It’ll make you bitter, just like she was. I might hate her for what she did to us, what she nearly succeeded in doing, but I’m willing to let that go, in exchange for peace of mind, to forgetting, to being happy again. Which will never happen for you if you go out of your way to cause hurt for her everyday. ”

 

Draco closes his eyes, “I’ll never forgive her.”

 

Harry presses a kiss to Draco’s lips, before speaking. “And neither will I. However, nothing hurts our enemies more, than seeing us thriving and happy, no matter how much they try to bring us down.”

 

Draco is always amazed at how much love and sheer __goodness__ Harry has in his heart, and he says so. “How can you be so perfect? So able to shed all the atrocities life has seen fit to send you?”

 

Harry smiles. “Well, I have you and Score, not to mention that I’m surrounded by friends and family. I can take a few hits and more.” His husband’s eyes dance mischievously, smile turning into a smirk. “And I may have arranged that anytime the __Prophet__ runs a story about us, it would be read to Pansy and all our pictures should paper her wall in Azkaban with a permanent sticking charm.”

 

There’s a spot of silence before Draco bursts out laughing, Harry joining him soon after. His husband is a devious bastard and he loves him.

 

After Draco has thoroughly kissed Harry, he tugs him out of the kitchen along with the magnificent cake and into the garden.

 

“Come, let’s be happy.”

 

They are welcomed by the happy squeals of their son and beaming faces of their family.

 

 

 

~O~

 

END

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been forever since my last work, serves me right for choosing now to start writing when I have to go on 36 hour shifts every 3 days.
> 
> I actually like Pansy, as her character's very versatile, please forgive her in this one.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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